Silent Stiles
by 8Kisa8
Summary: What happens when your world is changed into a fairy tale, then you end up being cut from your best friend. Well, I'll tell you, but its not exactly enlightening.


_If I owned this then I wouldn't be living on a farm, I'd be a city gal. _

_Enjoy. _

I am a normal teenager, or as normal as that word is able to imply. High school is…well high school. Honestly, I am probably the best personification of an outcast there is, I have had a crush on a girl since third grade and she didn't recognize my existence until a few days ago, I am on the lacrosse team….I keep the benches warm. It's a very tedious task but someone has to do it. Oh, and this is possibly the most 'out cast-ing' about me, my best friend is a werewolf. I know that werewolves are supposed to be only myths, legends and stories that make kids eat their veggies and go to bed on time. But they do exist, in fact there is a freaking pack of wolves forming in my once sleepy little town of Beacon Hills. And yes, I do consider the town mine, not just because I live in it but because my dad is the Sheriff and a damn good one at that. Anyway, as I said originally I am an outcast and a normal teenager with a slight furry problem. Or at least it used to be a small issue.

~ I stared at Scott, my best friend since life could record such instances, and stared flabbergasted. I wasn't sure if I had heard him correctly.

"Do you mind saying that again?" I asked, praying that April first had come early.

"I want you to leave, and I don't mean just right now, I mean as in forever. This whole thing has gotten way outta hand! You used to only do research, and that was good, I mean you saved my ass and the packs' back with all the work you put into it. But now it's gone too far. You almost died…Again!" Scott was pacing the length of his room, shoulders hunched, mouth set in a worried line, his hands alternating from mussing his hair to being shoved into his pockets.

"It's ok, I didn't die. Derek is fine, Jackson is as normal as he can be due to his complex and your Pack is once again safe from the hunters….why are you saying this now?" I asked, truly bewildered by his sudden worries over my wellbeing…and strangely warmed by it.

"Stiles, you aren't listening to me." Scott said, turning around and pausing before my sitting form.

"You're being unreasonable." I began again, hoping to finish my sentence before something in his room distracted me. Did I mention that I have ADHD?

For some reason that seemed to anger him all the more, and within seconds he was in my bubble, blue began to leak into his eyes as he glared at me. Anger practically radiated off him, it was close to suffocating, and that was when I realized that this wasn't just Scott trying to protect me, it wasn't even a Pack thing, it was a get rid of the annoying Stiles thing. Scott tried to avoid shifting to full furry, but he wasn't doing very well in the 'control your temper' category. A cold tendril slithered down my spine and pooled deep within my belly, as I looked at him, that was when I only saw a werewolf, no more Scott. Painfully setting my chin, I lifted my gaze and stood, forcing him back.

"Ok" I said, proud that my voice didn't stutter like my heart.

He seemed surprised but didn't do anything while I took up my bag and walked out. I walked out of the house that I considered my refuge, my second home, the band aid that helped sooth the jagged wound that was left after my mom's death. I walked out, and carefully opened the door to my beloved jeep, placed my bag in, and drove off. Ignoring the sad puppy-turned wolf eyes of my once friend.

I don't know when my emotions overpowered me, or when it began to rain in heavy sheets. I remember the bridge that I had to drive over to get to the main road, I remember a blaring of a horn and the sickening crunch of metal and fiberglass. And, I remember hearing a howl from far away, in the distance, one of pain, maybe of mourning, while flames lazily licked at my legs and hungrily consumed the jeep that I have cared for. Then, I stopped hearing, I felt the vibrations of emergency vehicles, saw blurry outlines of the crew, but that was it, my world had gone silent, then, the agony set in, and it went dark.

Hands touched me, some felt reassuringly cool against fevered flesh, while others painfully hot.

Something touched my legs, I think I screamed, but I don't know for sure.

People, concerned faces of strangers, stared at me, then, for a long while I knew nothing.

_My nose itched_, eyes fluttered weakly. It felt as if I had the flu and a cold and something else just as bad – all rolled into a make Stiles miserable concoction. I briefly wondered if Scott had taken notes for me or even had popped by to check up on me, but then I remembered that he wouldn't care anymore. Logically, I should have been expecting it. I mean, he was now first line and co-captain of the lacrosse team, he was ok in grades and he now had a very drool worthy girlfriend, why would he want to keep connections with his old life as a measly human? Even though this human helped him get over his dad's abandonment, his mom's work hours, this human has helped him through so many asthma attacks that the teachers finally let me deal with it when he had trouble breathing.

The cool puddle of reality that had dripped into my system was now a deep river, probably competing with one of those trenches in the ocean. It was that deep. I knew that I couldn't hate him, no matter how much I wanted to, so I decided to do the next best thing, I would ignore him. I would embrace the outcast lifestyle, maybe even quit lacrosse, there were plenty of non-outcasts who would love to have the honor of being a bench warmer.

As I was pulled deeper into the less than pleasant thoughts, I stared at the popcorn ceiling, and the longer I stared the more I began to realize one obvious thing, _This was not my room._ I wasn't even in my house; I know the ceiling of my home, having stared up at it time and time again, either due to boredom from a timeout as a kid or a reprieve from homework. Eyes flashed around the room, I struggled to move from the now stifling position. To my left was machines, a heart monitor, under my nose was a tube, and my legs…I couldn't feel my legs. For a moment, there were dark spots in my eyes and I thought that something terrible had happened and I had lost my legs, but on further inspection I saw two distinct bumps of blanket covered feet at the end of the bed.

That was when I slowly began to notice something, or rather the lack of something. Noise, the heart monitor said that I was alive, and the line was happily going up and down at a steady rhythm but I couldn't hear the beeping. I couldn't hear the soft squeaks of nursing shoes on the cheap but clean tile floor of the hall…..I couldn't even hear my breathing! A soft, warm hand was placed on my shoulder, startling me from my musing of horror, eyes traveled up to look into the worn face of my father. He squeezed, attempting to reassure me that it was going to be ok, but I knew better.

Doctors came and went; they usually had pads of paper or a laptop to communicate with me, to tell me what had happened and how my recovery was going. I was dry eyed the whole time, staring at the facts objectively, attempting to ignore the crushing reality of the situation. I was deft, my eardrums were shattered due to the explosion of my beloved jeep's engine and due to the close proximity I was at during its eruption. And, I had a mangled leg, they did all they could, but it wasn't good enough, I would be able to walk, once the bones and burns had healed, but I would have a limp and might have to use a cane, or walking stick, or something. All of the doctors were very sorry, and they were very hopeful for the future, because I was a 'young man with a bright future, after some physical therapy and sign language classes'.

That night, dad had to go back to work, I smiled reassuringly at him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to do anything here other than stare helplessly at me, or scribble down a question or two before lapsing into what I would assume to be an uncomfortable silence. Ms. McCall came and mother henned me into eating some jello, I hate jello, in fact I hate all things wiggly and mindless….kind of how I used to be. It's sad, really, that I was jealous of a gelatinous colored inanimate food.

Once my leg's burns were nearly healed, I was put into a special cast and I began physical therapy, and sign language lessons. And eventually, four weeks merging into five, I was released from the hospital, confined to crutches and a rudimentary knowledge of signs. Dad tried to explain the lack of visitors, but I understood, I was no longer friends with Scott, thus the lacrosse team had no team guilt to visit the bench warmer, nor did the Pack have any obligation towards my wellbeing.

The school let me take online courses to catch up, I was able to stay within the safety of my home, with wolves bane and mountain ash protecting me from any potential furry intruders. Not that I was expecting any, but I learned from the kanima incident that it was better to be prepared than to be caught off guard. And, eventually I was able to edge dad back into the working world, though he would send me texts on his breaks to make sure I was holding up and that I didn't need anything. My answer to his questions was always the same: _**I'm fine, be safe. Love you. **_Short, sweet and to the point, something the old me never was.

A dark humor seemed to seep into me, maybe it was always there, only hidden by the loud, happy Stiles. But now, there was nothing left, it was as if I was empty, I wasn't depressed, I didn't believe in depression, I was still alive, my dad was alive, and we were safe and had food and a roof over our heads. There was no real reason for me to be anything other than thankful that I had my limbs and now I only needed to use a special walking stick to maneuver around the house. The ADHD was still there, but I was unable to painlessly use the energy in a physical sense, so I wrote. I wrote so many digital documents on my laptop that I was forced to put them on thumb drives just so I could continue to write, the memory of my computer was unable to contain all the thoughts that needed to be released.

Summer came, school was over, and my homeschooling was successful. I had the highest grade average than I thought possible, dad seemed to have a sense of pride, but it was dimmed by his understanding of how and why I was able to achieve such grades. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of Scott, or Jackson, Allison or Derek, and I grew to be more persistent in my studies.

After a few silent conversations with my father, and some faltering sentences, he agreed to let me take summer courses online, so I would have the opportunity to graduate early. I learned all that I could on the anatomy and phycology of the human being. I alternated between working on school work to writing in my journal of sorts, which was slowly morphing into a horror book.

**Journal Entry 232, **

** I read in a passage of a philosophical book it talked about how one should be able **

** to compartmentalize their minds and that way there will be less strife and anxiety **

** within their everyday life. So, I have attempted to do as such. **

** A part of me, maybe it's the old Stiles, has been screaming since I learned that we, **

** I would never be able to hear again, or to walk normally for that matter. He has **

** screamed and raged within my mind, causing me to lose focus on my studies, and **

** snap at the smallest instances of pain. No longer. There is a large brick and steel **

** wall locking that side away, leaving logic in its wake.**

** Where my mind was once chaotic and thoughts would attempt to overpower one **

** another, similar to over eager wolves on a hunt, now is cohesive. Everything has **

** a place, and all the unwanted thoughts are no longer – such as the horrible **

** questioning of why, why would he abandon me? Why did mom have to die? Why **

** did Peter Hale have to destroy the last shred of normalcy I had, and take my brother**

** in everything but blood away. – all those irritating thoughts are no longer have free**

** reign within, now there is logic and order. And in some twisted way, I understand **

**how Gerard and the other's have been willing to hunt down the Packs, code or **

**not, there are some….beings out there that should do the population a favor and**

**either sterilize themselves or end it. **

**On a lighter note the doctors say that my leg has been improving, the scarring on **

**my right is minimal, the left is still going to look grotesque, it's a good thing that I **

**have already sworn off all athletic wear for more practical daily clothing such as **

**jeans and dark wash shirts, its better to blend into the scenery than to stand out. **

**Less of a chance to be disappointed….**

My actions have taken on a methodical approach, eating habits have changed to healthier, and more nutritional. Dad has decided to help me with the 'going healthy' vendetta and after he consumed all the unhealthy supplements within the household, he has been purchasing more organic and less processed foods. Though, I have been aware of his small stash of cookies and other cholesterol raising sweets in his drawers, but I didn't have the heart to evict the sweetened food. He has already done so much for me; I could allow him a little splurging.

I think my lack of action and old Stiles actions have started to bother him, when we sit in the living room, Dad watch the tv with subtitles for me, he would glance at me, as if expecting me to turn to him and start to talk and act like there was nothing wrong. A small part of me wanted to show him that I was still Stiles, just different, but logically I wasn't really Stiles any more, at least not in the sense that he was used to. A world of silence would change any one.

A soft vibration woke me, rolling over I sighed and started at the pleasantly glowing screen that demanded attention. For a moment I was tempted to hit the snooze, and allow my mind to wander in the loving caress of sleep for a little longer, but I knew better. Unlike the old me, I had a schedule, a routine that I had to do or else I wouldn't get better, I wouldn't expand my knowledge on the world around me, and instead I would let myself fall into a depressive and lethargic state. I couldn't allow any weakness to be shown to dad, he was slowly allowing me to mend his ego and being lethargic would destroy all hope of getting him back to his badass Sheriff ways.

Out of bed I rolled, a slight smile of satisfaction when I felt the thud of my good foot hit the hardwood, though I couldn't hear it, I enjoyed that small pleasure of noise making. Hand scratching stomach, sweat pants drooping low on my narrow hips, I limped towards the kitchen. It hurt, not using the crutch, but I was not going to be dependent on the inanimate object for longer than necessary.

Once in the kitchen, I leaned against the cool countertop and breathed deeply, doing a few relaxation breaths in attempts to calm my fidgeting stomach. When I had it under control I turned, and froze. Standing before me was Scott, looking a little worse for wear. He wore his usual jeans, red shirt and green grey hoodie. If anything, his normal looking appearance stirred the embers of anger that had never settled.

Scott seemed transfixed, he started at me with those liquid brown eyes, taking in my longer than normal hair, to the now toned abdomen, then he traveled down to my legs. A part of me wanted to snarl, and act like the old me would, a wounded puppy, making more noise than necessary to get attention and pity. I squashed those urges, and slowly moved to the side, bypassing Scott and grabbing my crutch. Though I didn't want to seem weak to him, he could already smell the pain coming from me, so why bother and try to hide it. I was just a weak human after all.

"Stiles." Scott spoke with an exaggerated mouth, I glared at him in response.

Before turning and slowly beginning my climb back to my room. Scott wouldn't be able to enter it, not with all the Monks Wood and Mountain Ash I had stored in there, it would keep even the most stubborn of Alphas away, maybe even kill them. A hand grabbed my shoulder, and I reacted.

My titanium crutch swung out and smashed against my 'friend's' head, making what I assume to be a nice smacking sound. Scott crumpled, I painfully half lunged half jogged to the stairs, and grabbed my phone from my pocket. I had a text message saved, just precautionary, for an instance like this. As I sent it, Scott was behind me once more.

For a moment we simply stared at one another, I looked at the blood that was slowly sliding down the side of his face in a thick tendril, but the gash was already healing. _Damn him. _I thought, nothing in life was fair, I learned that when my mother was unjustly taken from me, but this was on a whole new level. This wasn't natural, he shouldn't exist, people like him should only exist in fairy tales and myths to scare children, the fact that he is what he is and has the ability to heal with such ease brought the kindled flame of rage deep within me back to life. I hated him, I hated everything there was to do with the supernatural. I hated him, Derek, Jackson, the Argents, everything and one that had any relationship towards the supernatural. Their world has been separate from us, humans, for a reason, there was no place for them in society. Hence the witch hunts and purgings of the ole days, they were not wanted, they were feared, and hated because they were not human.

Scott seemed to catch onto my mind set, either by sent or some other type of wolfy sense but he stayed his ground. Arms spread wide, showing that he came in peace. But I knew better. I snarled silently at him, leg throbbed, I held the crutch and railing with all my strength.

"Stiles." He mouthed, slowly and exaggeratedly, "I'm sorry._" _

_No_, I wanted to yell. He couldn't do that! He couldn't say that he was sorry and expect everything to go back to the way it was. It doesn't work like that, it can't work like that. I stared at him, daring him to continue, and being the big bad wolf that he was, he did.

"I thought that I could protect you by leaving. We all thought it was for the best to let you be left to your own devices."

I glared, he should have known what his friendship had meant to me, and what it did when there was no longer a friendship. But before I was able to respond to his words with a gesture, my phone buzzed with an incoming text. One glare later, and I looked at the phone, hoping it would say that my knight, dad, was headed to me. Instead it was the glacier to my titanic of hope. _**It's ok, I invited him. Try to talk it out. **_

Knees grew weak, anger and something else flowed freely through my veins. This wasn't happening, Scott drew closer, a painted look of concern was on his face, I snarled soundlessly in response. I didn't need his help, I didn't need anyone's help. Up I climbed, to the top of the stairs, a middle finger later, and I closed the door to my room with a snap. And that was it, I was done. No more Stiles, no more 'when it gets better', I had just damned myself when I refused my friend, which in turn refused any chance of a bite….and I didn't care. Reality had set in, the bubble of school work and physical therapy had burst, thanks to the Scott shaped bullet.

I leaned against the wall, near the door, so I wouldn't feel the vibrations of an irate and weakening werewolf pound against it. Somehow I ended up on the ground, mangled leg stretched before me, good one somewhere else…my eyes grew heavy. My mind, and all the work I put into keeping it organized, logical and safe was in disarray, all because of one person's sudden visit. Breath evened out, limbs grew heavy, eyes stayed open but at half-mast. I disappeared, the screaming Stiles within had died down to an incoherent, mumbling and rocking mass of humanity. I hurt, I was tired of the silence, of the lies, and I was just tired of trying to make it work. But I knew that I couldn't die, I was too weak to die, to selfish, so instead, I disappeared deep within myself.

Dad found me that way the next morning, and now here I lie, in a hospital bed.

I do live, I see through glazed eyes, I see the people who abandoned me now visit with pitying and guilty looks on their faces. But I have yet to find it in myself to drag myself out of the darkness, maybe I will one day. But for now, I am here, in the silence, waiting.

_The End _

_Please feel free to review and if I get enough reviews I might add another chapter to this oneshot. _


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